Page 89 of The Fine Line
“Well, that’s a first.”
“Rhett—”
“It’s fine.” He sniffs, then brushes past me. “I’ll see you at home.”
I go still.
Home.
NotRhett’shome.
Because, as we found out from Linda this morning…
Apparently, I live there now too.
twenty-two
RHETT
Eleven Years Ago
Chicago, IL, USA
I live here now.
But I couldn’t feel more like a tourist just passing through if I tried.
I tap my foot, staring out the coffee shop window.
A flock of birds crowds the sidewalk, pecking for crumbs dropped by people on their way out. One bird catches my eye—bigger than the rest, flashier feathers, and clearly aware of it. He flaps and twitters way too close to every passerby, putting on a show.
What a little shit.
Someone’s calling out orders behind me, but I ignore them, locked in on this damn bird. He’s tailing a woman in a blazer and heels, laser-focused on the pastry bag in her hand, trampling over his bird-friends without hesitation. The woman doesn’t notice—she’s too busy on a phone call.
Movement to the side draws my attention. A little girl and her mom tear apart a croissant, tossing crumbs. The rest of the flock rushes over immediately. Everyone gets a bite—except showoff bird. He’s still chasing the woman, oblivious, hooked on something that was never his to begin with. So full of hope in his game. Certain to end in disappointment.
And here I am, in downtown Chicago, feeling sorry for a goddamn bird.
And worse—relating to it.
I blink, hard. Snap out of it just in time to hear the tail end of my name being called. I grab my drink and check my watch.
Shit—only twenty minutes until the meeting.
First impressions matter, but this one? Probably the biggest of my life.
I make it two steps toward the door before someone taps my shoulder.
“Excuse me?—”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have time right now,” I say, already walking.
I’ve only been in the city a few days and I’ve been stopped over a dozen times. I knew Chicago’s hockey fan base was strong, but I never expected so many people to recognize the face of a rookie who hasn’t even had his first minute of NHL ice time.
I feel a twinge of guilt as I keep going, but I don’t have any choice.
But whoever it is isn’t letting it go. A hand wraps around my bicep, pulling me to a stop.
